


A Matchless Match

by khazadqueen (ama)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Awkwardness, Bar & Bat Mitzvah, Coming Out, Dancing, Gay Character, Gen, Jewish Character, Jewish Dwarves, M/M, Nosy Parents, Teenagers, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/khazadqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Ori's bar mitzvah, and Dori wants to make sure he enjoys it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matchless Match

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this [truly brilliant](http://brashlyashley.tumblr.com/post/78357375474/imagine-our-world-fili-and-ori-dancing-at-oris) text post; sadly I didn't see the bit about braces until too late, but still. I love awkward!Fili and Ori and I'm very much a fan of Jewish dwarves (Reform Jews specifically, hence lesbian rabbi), so I wrote this in about four hours.
> 
> The title is from Fiddler on the Roof, of course, because I pictured Nori saying something snarky about the rabbi's son and yeah. Also Bala is a trans lady dwarf from some fics I wrote for Femslash February. I decided to keep her. :)

“Don’t you want to dance with your friends?” Dori said, smoothing a crease on Ori’s suit jacket. The sleeves were far too long, he noticed with a sigh, just as he thought they would be—Nori had been much lankier at Ori’s age, and he hadn’t had time to tailor it enough. Unthinkingly he reached down, intending to at least fold the sleeves back, but Ori pulled away.

“It’s _fine_ , Dori. And not really… I’m not a good dancer or anything.”

“Well, you don’t get better by sitting down.”

“How much longer is the party going to be?” Ori asked, biting the corner of his lip.

Before Dori could answer, another random member of the congregation walked past and squeezed Ori’s shoulder in congratulations. He smiled weakly and shot Dori that _look_ , that look that said he would rather be anywhere in the world than right there at that moment—although, if given a choice, he would really prefer to go squirrel himself away in the backseat of the car with a book, please. Dori clucked and tapped him fondly on the nose.

“Only for another hour. Try to endure it, hm? Go on, go find Kili or someone.”

Ori eyed the dance floor with an odd expression on his face. It wasn’t very populated at the moment, except by a few older teens, some parents and grandparents bouncing or tapping their feet absently as they spoke, and a handful of tweens and preteens dancing in a way that was sure to break bones at some point. Dori wasn’t _thrilled_ to be sending Ori in their midst, but it had to be better than sitting at a table for a whole hour.

Dori frowned as he tried to interpret Ori’s expression. It was something like… hopefulness paired with resignation. Very strange, very much not something he wanted Ori to be dealing with. He brushed a lock of hair out of Ori’s face and grimaced—he was wearing far too much gel.

“I’m just going to stay here for a while,” Ori said. “It felt like everyone was staring at me the entire service; I just need a minute by myself.”

“It’s _your_ bar mitzvah, of course people were staring. And you read beautifully.” Ori smiled at that, and Dori smiled in return. “All right, take a bit of a break now—but really, if you want to dance then go do it. No one’s going to make fun of you, or I’ll knock ’em out.”

Ori giggled.

“You sound like Nori,” he teased, and Dori gave an exaggerated gasp.

“ _Never_!” he said exaggeratedly, and patted Ori’s shoulder one last time before he walked away to get a glass of water. He exchanged nods and smiles with everyone he passed, and silently congratulated himself on an event well planned. Most of the congregation had stuck around after service, and some of Ori’s friends from school and their parents. Even Nori had stopped in for a while, though he had only been there to watch Ori read the closing prayer, snatch some food, and shove an envelope in Ori’s pocket before disappearing to—well, wherever he disappeared to.

Just as he was musing on this, the rabbi approached with her wife in tow. They made quite a stunning pair, one tall and dark-haired, the other rather squat and blonde, and they wound through the crowd with the ease of the fond and familiar and sat down at Dori’s table.

“Mazel tov,” Dís said with a grin. “Ori did wonderfully; his pronunciation is miles better than Kili’s, not that that’s a surprise.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Dori beamed. “I was just telling him so—he does love languages. Reading in front of people isn’t something he enjoys as much, of course…”

“Does anyone?” Bala grimaced, and for a few pleasant moments they exchanged stories of their own, as well as good-natured gossip about the other children in Dís’s scripture classes. Then the talk turned to Dís and Bala’s sons, and Ori, and Dori took the opportunity to brag for a little bit more. “He doesn’t look very happy now, though, does he?” Bala said with a frown as she looked over to where Ori was still sitting, rather forlornly. “It’s supposed to be a happy day—why isn’t he dancing or something?”

“Because he’s a thirteen-year-old boy, dear,” Dís said drily, and Bala shrugged.

“Actually…” Dori hesitated. He was fully aware that Ori confided in him more than most boys did with their guardians—it was one of the (few) perks of playing the role of both father and brother. He was loathe to break that confidence. But, he rationalized, he did need help _sometimes_ , and if he couldn’t turn to the rabbi and her wife than who could he ask? “I think he might like to, but, well… I don’t think he’s _out_ to any of his friends yet.”

He saw surprise flicker in their faces, accompanied by almost instantaneous smiles.

“Out as in…?” Bala asked, her voice trailing off suggestively, and he nodded. “ _Well_. Yes, that adds something, doesn’t it?”

“Kids these days,” Dís muttered. “I didn’t even realize I was gay when I was thirteen, and if I had I doubt I would have been brave enough to _tell_ anyone.”

“Ori’s always been very self-aware. And it’s not as though he doesn’t want any of his friends to know, it’s just—finding the words, I think, and dealing with the attention. He doesn’t like being the center of attention. If he had his way about it, he’d rather write them all a polite letter and then take a weeklong vacation a hundred miles away until they got used to it,” Dori chuckled, and both women laughed, too. They knew Ori fairly well, Dís from classes and Bala from the PTA, and he was sure they had had their own experience with Ori’s particular brand of confidence. Every once in a while, he would demonstrate a truly astounding streak of boldness (a family trait, Nori always bragged), but it was anyone’s guess when that would show up.

“I wonder,” Dís said thoughtfully. “He might dance if someone asked him… it would be a very simple way of coming out, and if he had a partner it’d be easier to deal with the attention. Do you think he’d agree to it?”

Dori glanced at his brother, who was tapping his foot wistfully, and nodded.

“Absolutely. Depending on who asked, of course.”

“Either of our boys would. They’ve got a knack for putting people at ease. We can ask.”

“Better to ask Fíli than Kili, I think,” Bala said with a bit of a grin. “Kili’s more… excitable. Fíli wouldn’t make a big deal of it; shall we poke him in the right direction?”

Dori hesitated for a moment, wondering if Ori would be mortified… but he could count on Bala to be discreet, and hopefully her son would be the same. Besides, it wasn’t as if Fíli would _pity_ him. They ran in different circles at school, but Ori liked both Kili and Fili, and Dori was reasonably certain that it was mutual. They were good boys.

“Yes, thank you,” he said finally, with a nod. “I really do worry over him sometimes,” he confided suddenly. “He’s so shy—neither Nori or I were like that at his age. If he doesn’t want to dance, that’s all right, but it’s better to have the option.”

“Yes, I know exactly what you mean. I’ll go find Fíli.”

“Bala,” Dís said suddenly. “I don’t think you have to.”

Silently, she pointed at a table across the room and the other two turned, following her gaze. Fíli was sitting there along with a few other antisocial tweens, although he wasn’t speaking with or even looking at them. Rather, he was staring at sometimes in Ori’s close proximity, or possibly Ori himself. As Dori watched, the boy stared, blushed, stared into his cup—and then at Ori again, at the dance floor, at Ori, at his cup.

This process repeated itself several times, and Dori fervently thanked the Lord that he himself was long past that most miserable of ages.

“Well would you look at that,” he murmured. “Has Fíli…?”

The two women exchanged a glance (“You?” “No, you?” “Not me”) and shook their heads.

“Though it explains the bottle of Axe he went through when he was getting ready this morning,” Dís said drily. “I had attributed that to—well, that age, you know.”

They paused for a few minutes, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

“Is he every going to actually stand up?” Bala muttered impatiently, drumming her fingers against the table.

“Thirteen year old boy,” Dís reminded her, and waved her hand a bit to catch Fíli’s attention. Once she had it, she very pointedly jerked her head in Ori’s direction.

Fíli’s entire face became bright red in a single instant, as suddenly as a traffic light, and shook his head and waved his mother away. Bala’s hand reached up to cover her smile, which probably only made it worse, as “how adorable” was written all over her face, and Fíli slunk down further in his chair. His eyes darted around the room, trying to make sure no one else noticed as Dís again gestured in the direction of the dance floor. Dori turned away with a smile. Ori was, obviously, far too young to be dating anyone or to have anything resembling a boyfriend—but if he _had_ to have a crush of some sorts, a rabbi’s son who was too nervous to so much as approach him without encouragement had Dori’s approval. He peeked over his shoulder curiously.

After another moment of adolescent indecision, Fíli finally stood. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath and waved his mothers away again, then made a beeline for where Ori was sitting. Halfway there, he managed to affix a charming smile to his face, and he ran a hand through his golden curls with only a hint of self-consciousness.

Ori looked up at his approach; Dori wasn’t at a great angle, and could only see his brother’s face in profile, but it was enough for him to say the pink that touched Ori’s freckled cheeks when Fíli spoke. He hunched his shoulders unconsciously, eyes falling to the floor, and then looked up with the tiniest of smiles and a nod. Bala clasped her hands triumphantly. Dori realized he was holding his breath only when he released it in a soft gush of air that sounded more wistful than he anticipated, as Fíli confidently took Ori's hand and led him onto the dance floor.

Dís met his eyes and smiled, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Feels odd, isn’t it? Come on, Dori, you could use something a bit stronger than tea.”

“I don’t think…” he began, but then he watched as Ori nervously wiped his palms on his pants and took Fíli’s hand again. After a few stiff, awkward gestures, he finally rested the other hand on Fíli’s hip and they began to sway out of time. Fíli had a better sense for the music, and managed to take the lead; Ori tripped over his own feet somehow, and reached up to adjust his knitted kippah—a nervous habit he had because he hated it when his hair was squashed flat.

He was so _young_ , really. Thirteen years old, yes, old enough to know who he was and to dance with boys he liked and to be responsible for himself… but how on earth had thirteen whole years passed? Ten since Dori had taken custody of his baby brother, and moved into the little falling-apart house with yellow paint and white lace curtains, and rocked Ori to sleep with lullabies that he forgot the words to halfway through. Ten whole years.

His heart fluttered painfully and he pressed his hand against it with another heavy sigh. Dís nudged his elbow gently and shoved a glass of red wine into his other hand. Mutely, the three adults raised their glasses in a toast. Fíli happened to look up at an inopportune moment, and ducked his flaming face against Ori’s shoulder.


End file.
